


Holding to the Ground

by thescarletwoman



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Children of Earth Fix-It, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescarletwoman/pseuds/thescarletwoman
Summary: Jack has never dealt with grief well and this is no exception. Running away from all of his responsibilities, he leaves Gwen alone to try to rebuild the crumbling Torchwood. Jack travels the world until something pulls him back to Cardiff -- to discover something he never thought possible. The only problem is he needs the Doctor's help, and who knows when he'll return again?





	1. Chapter 1

_Bang._

The sound of the gun shot echoed, breaking the silence that stretched over the Plass like a blanket. The revolver fell from Jack's hand a moment later as his body pitched forward into the cold sea. He had chosen the time appropriately, namely because the late hour would lend itself to less witnesses. There was no one to run to the edge of the pier and try to fish him out, to attempt to save the poor man who suddenly decided to end it all by putting the barrel of a gun to his temple and blow his brains out.

God, what a shock it would have been to the hapless individual to suddenly have Jack wake up while his saviour was pulling the seemingly lifeless body from the water. Normal people didn't come back to life

It wasn't the first time he'd put a bullet in his head since Ianto died. Every day at 4:37 am (exactly twelve hours after Ianto exhaled his final breath) Jack killed himself in one form or another -- though lately a gunshot seemed to appeal to his sense of self-loathing. He didn't care if it was an overly dramatic way to die or if it made him seem like some gigantic romantic who couldn't live without his lover, Jack needed a way to deal with his guilt and suicide was his method of choice.

Jack was none of those things. He was merely a man who knew no other way of dealing with grief. It wasn't only Ianto's death he was mourning, but the end of his relationship with his daughter and the death of his grandson. With each eventual resurrection, Jack grew colder, harder. Every time Jack died, a bit more of his humanity died with him -- though there wasn't much left of that to lose. What else was there for him in the end? He had seen his lover die by his own hand. Jack had destroyed his daughter in order to save the world. At the very base of his existence, Jack Harkness was a soldier and he knew that there were times sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. He had once sacrificed Jasmine to the fairies even though he had faced the silent disapproval of the rest of his team. Jack understood that, at times, he would have to do the unconscionable in order to keep the rest of the world safe.

He was the one who had taken on the role of hero -- the decisions and the repercussions were his cross to bear for the rest of his long life.

In the end, there was only so much a man could take without snapping. Apparently, Jack had found his breaking point.

Once upon a time, Jack had loathed the blackness, the cold inky space that surrounded death. Now he found solace in its depths. There was a part of Jack that prayed he would find Ianto within the black confines of death; that he could see him one last time and apologise for everything... apologise for not listening to him in the first place. The entire plan had been half-cocked from the beginning and Ianto had argued with him until his voice cracked from anger. Yet Jack had ignored his concerns, convinced Ianto that he was right and had all but forced Ianto to accompany him to the Thames house without so much as a mask for protection.

Stupidly, Jack had antagonised the 456. His pride had gotten the better of him because he had become lazy in dealing with people and aliens. Jack believed that a few well-placed words accompanied by waving a gun around would case the 456 to capitulate to his demands. He never expected the 456 to fight back and he sure as hell never expected their retaliation to be so deadly. Ianto wasn't the only casualty from Jack's bull-headed mistake. He had seen the body bags in the makeshift morgue; their deaths increased the number of stains Jack would carry on his soul for the rest of his life.

So much death... and all of them were his fault because he had enjoyed playing the role of the hero. In the end, the role of the hero was one never intended for Jack Harkness. Too often Jack bumbled his way through things and at the end only barely managed to save the day. It was usually dumb luck coupled with a lot of elbow grease that got Torchwood through their messes.

Sure, they had lived to fight another day -- but at what cost? A destroyed Hub, a decimated team, and the destruction of his own blood.

The darkness didn't last for long and soon Jack was thrust from the cold arms of death and pushed back to the land of the living. He drew in that first breath, disoriented from being under water, and sucked in water rather than oxygen.

Gasping for breath and choking on a mouthfull of water as it filled his lungs, Jack pushed himself to the surface, fighting the weight of his wet greatcoat. One of these days he'd remember to remove it before he plunged into the icy water -- particularly as some of the bloodstains were rather conspicuous. Jack treaded water for a few minutes, getting his bearings and resigning himself to this hellish existence once more. Even after so many deaths, there was a large part of Jack that hoped this next one would be the one to end it all.

And yet, every time, he woke -- still shuffling along this mortal coil. Maybe next time.

Slowly, Jack began to swim towards one of the ladders, pulling himself out of the frigid water and back onto dry land. Water poured from him, squeezing out of his heavy coat and clothing, drenching the flagstones beneath his feet. Every time he rose from the water, Jack couldn't help but think of a baptism: each death was a new rebirth, slowly purging the Doctor's healing influence from every cell of Jack's body. Perhaps he would have been better off as a coward, better off never trying to play the hero -- a part he had never been cast in and had no right to attempt. Slowly the Captain was slipping away from Jack and in its place was the rogue Time Agent -- the con man who cared for nothing but money, liquor and a good fuck.

The hero gig hadn't worked out and, really, until the Doctor had come along he was doing pretty damn good with the bastard stuff. Why shouldn't he go back to what he was good at?

Thank god it was so early in the morning, no one was around to see the spectacle he was about to make. Eyes raised to the heavens, Jack shook his fist and began to yell, knowing full well that there was no way the Doctor could hear his ravings.

"Where the bloody hell are you, Doctor? You claim to love humanity so much? Where the _fuck_ were you when we needed you the most? When _I_ needed you?" His voice was hoarse by the time Jack finished, but he didn't care. Seven stages of grief? Jack Harkness was permanently vacillating between denial and anger. "Come on. Show your face around here again. I fucking _dare_ you."

As always, there was no response. The first few times he had shouted, Jack had felt some measure of relief afterwards. Now? It only pissed him off all the more that he couldn't give the Doctor a piece of his mind in person.

Not to mention a piece of his fist in his jaw.

Jack retrieved his revolver, sliding it back into its holster and turned on his heel, walking away from the construction in the Plass. He had no idea what they were going to make of the gaping hole that had once been his home, nor did he care anymore. It was Gwen's now by default.

Jack Harkness was through with Torchwood.

***

_Dark. Cold. Wet. Black._

_Floating. Weightless. Nothingness._

_No body. No feeling. No life._

_Wet. Cold._

_Death._

_Dead._

***

He was not there to receive the body, nor was Jack the one to tell Ianto's family he had been killed. Both tasks he had passed on to Gwen, not wanting to be anywhere near the make-shift Hub or anything having to do with one Ianto Jones. He had left his instructions: how Ianto's body was to be stored until the Hub was rebuilt and what the Jones family would be able to do for a burial. Ianto's body was now Torchwood property, another one of the pitiful souls taken much before their time and stored away beneath Cardiff until the end of time.

Apparently, the only ways to survive to reach the age of thirty in Torchwood was to be immortal or to be hired at age thirty-one.

There was nothing left for Jack here in Cardiff. No Doctor to wait for as, if the Doctor really cared about humanity as much as he professed to, where the hell was he during this whole debacle? No family because Jack knew Alice would rather see him dead than invite him into her home ever again. On that, Jack couldn't blame her -- if he were her, he wouldn't want to see himself either. No Torchwood, he had blown the Hub to kingdom come. Yes, Jack knew Torchwood was more than just the Hub, but he had lost enough in the name of Torchwood. The man had had reached his limit and he was done. Someone else could take over.

Worst of all, Jack didn't even have his Vortex Manipulator -- yet another thing that Torchwood had taken from him. After wearing the thing for roughly two millennia, his wrist felt naked without it. He rubbed the bare skin, wishing it was there to give him some way to escape the Earth. Jack may not have been able to travel in time (thanks Doctor. Really appreciate that one.) but he could at least call a passing ship in an attempt to hitch a ride. _Anything_ that could get him away from this dead planet was okay by Jack, even a garbage transport would do.

Short of that, maybe it was high time he left Cardiff. At this point, it didn't matter where he went, so long as it had nothing to do with Wales or Cardiff.

India was supposed to be nice this time of year. Or perhaps the Amazon. His coat would be a bitch in the heat but those were the breaks, eh?

Jack had a fair amount of cash set aside for that proverbial rainy day and, frankly, it didn't get much drearier than this. Money in hand, Jack booked the first flight (first class of course) for the destination farthest away from Cardiff.

Ghat would do for a start. Maybe he could wander the desert for twenty-some odd years.

 

 

 

***

_Cold. Death. Dark. Alone._

_Feeling. Odd. Strange._

_Not dark. Pinpricks of light. Dark... no, no light._

_Grey not black._

_Cold. Hot._

_Something._

***

"You lot have the plans. What more do you need?"

It didn't take a rocket scientist to realise this was not going well and consequently, Gwen Cooper-Williams was one pissed off Welshwoman. Now in the position of de facto leader, Gwen was faced with the arduous task of dealing with Cardiff's finest to help rebuild not only the Roald Dahl Plass, but the Hub beneath it. They only needed to complete the main structure in order to begin the construction of the Plass itself. It was only when she saw the crater left behind by Jack's bomb that Gwen had an inkling of how extensive the Hub truly was. Yes, she realised it was a large space but when the flagstones of the Plass were peeled away like the top of a sardine can, she could appreciate the engineering that had carved out the structure beneath Cardiff -- especially when one considered the age of the original Hub.

They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Myfanwy, but Gwen was going to assume the best for the pteranodon. Besides, they had found pieces of Janet's body, so it stood to reason that if Myfanwy hadn't gotten out in time, they'd have found her as well. That was Gwen's feeling and she'd stick to it until she had evidence to the contrary. Not to mention Gwen didn't feel up to explaining why there were non-fossilised dinosaur bones in Cardiff.

Explaining the reason for an underground secret lair beneath Cardiff had been hard enough without a large-scale dose of Retcon as a 'binding' agent.

The worker shouted something unintelligible back at her and Gwen ignored it. Fine and whatever. She wasn't here to make friends, she was here to oversee things as Jack would have wanted them carried out.

Then again, did it really matter what Jack wanted? He left them... _again_. No, she wouldn't think like that. She would rebuild the Hub exactly as Jack would have wanted it built and she was determined to entice him back at _some_ point. Gwen firmly believed that Jack would return to her, no matter what happened in the interim. He simply needed time away from everything and more time to clear his head. But he'd be back.

He had to and Gwen wouldn't be shaken from her belief.

"Cooper!" Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, seeing a man approach carrying a clip board.

_God, what now?_

"Yeah, what is it?" Gwen asked, meeting the man half-way. "I'm busy and I have things that need taking care of--"

"I need you to sign for the body."

Gwen could feel the colour drain from her face, chest tightening as she fought a near overwhelming wave of emotion. Damn this pregnancy and her current predicament to greet every small thing with an over-exaggerated response. Still, anyone would have the same reaction hearing their friend was now relegated to the category of 'body' -- no longer a person but a husk, an empty shell.

She didn't need a name to know who the bloke was referring to as a body.

"Right," Gwen replied. "I thought the paperwork had been taken care of already. He was to be kept in cryogenics until Torchwood came for him. You have the orders from Captain Harkness."

"Look lady, I don't know anything about that. I was told to bring the body here and let you lot take care of it."

"And what the hell do you think I'm going to do with it?" Gwen asked, gesturing behind her. "Does it _really_ look like I have the means to take care of a body? Where do you think I'm hiding a freeze chamber, up my skirt?"

"You're not wearing a skirt."

Gwen rubbed her temples, wondering how Jack dealt with these imbeciles day in and day out. Granted, she had her taste of it when he had left them all in the lurch, running after the Doctor a few years back. However, at that time, she'd been able to use Toshiko, Owen and Ianto as back-up. Now, she was completely on her own. One thing was for certain, Gwen wasn't going to be alone for long. With or without Jack's blessing she was going to hire some help.

"And you've not learned the definition of sarcasm," Gwen replied, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "So what am I supposed to _do_ with a body I have no way of preserving?"

The uniformed man shrugged. "Not my problem."

"Oh, I'm about to make it your problem," Gwen replied, snatching the clipboard from him. She began scanning it, knowing there _had_ to be some instructions contained therein that the man missed, something that would prove she was right and he was in the wrong.

Besides, as far as she knew, Ianto would have set all the arrangements and she couldn't imagine him not following everything through to the n-th letter of the law. Searching through the three pages, Gwen finally found what she was looking for -- small print, perhaps, but it was there. Ah, vindication.

"Right then," Gwen said, curling the paper back and turning the board so he could see it. "Tell me what this says." She pointed at the line in question, stepping back and placed her hands on her hips, smirking.

He took the clip board from her, squinting at the tiny print and scowled.

"Read it," Gwen repeated, crossing her arms in front of her chest. God, she was even starting to act like Jack, wasn't she?

"Says that we're to hold the deceased in cryo-stasis until such the time that Torchwood sees fit to relieve us of our duty."

"Then, following that, have any of us come to retrieve Mr Jones from your hands?" Gwen continued, uncrossing one of her hands and picking at her nails.

"No, you haven't."

"Well," Gwen took a step forward and patted the man on the shoulder, giving him her sweetest smile, "in that case, I suggest you return Mr Jones to where he should be until I come for him. Which will be once he can be safely moved and into storage."

God, storage. It sounded so damned cold (pun not intended). How _did_ Jack do this time after time after time? Gwen drew in a breath and slowly exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose for a second time and tried to look more annoyed as opposed to crushed. The man had the good grace to look suitably abashed and Gwen was relieved. One more possible crisis averted for the time being -- a well-won victory in her mind.

"Got it."

"Got it, what?" Gwen asked, clearing her throat.

"Got it, ma'am."

Arms crossed in front of her chest once more, Gwen watched with a satisfied smirk as the man returned to his van with his head bowed. If she could, she would have taken Ianto's body and kept it somewhere safe -- he belonged with Torchwood, such that it was. Gwen had seen hide nor hair of Jack since the 456's departure and something told her not to go in search of him. He would return whenever he was good and ready and until then, Gwen would keep things moving.

She only hoped that the end of the world wasn't approaching them at the break-neck pace Jack always seemed to warn them about: the 21st century was when it all changes. They could only deal with so many disasters at a time and now that the only members of Torchwood were an absent leader and a pregnant woman, the world didn't stand much of a chance.

The simple answer was they weren't ready.

"Cooper!"

Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, uncrossing her arms and jogging towards the construction worker as he flagged her down. No rest for the weary or the wicked.

***

_Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold._

_Feeling. Warmth._

_Surroundings. Light. Dark. Gray._

_Contact. Coming._

_Soon._

***

Three months. Three months he had spent in the ass-end of the world, wandering deserts and forests, not caring where he was or where he was going. There were times Jack forgot to eat, forgot to sleep and only when his body gave out due to heat stroke or dehydration would he remember the necessities of life. His greatcoat was ripped beyond repair but even that didn't seem to bother him. The only odd thing was that Jack had yet to grow facial hair and look like some primitive Neanderthal wandering through the uncharted wilderness. Jack had always shaved daily, one of those human conventions he'd always followed due to his vanity as opposed to the need to get rid of stubble. But having a smooth face after months of neglect, Jack realised that there was quite a bit more to the whole 'fixed point in time' that he had never contemplated.

Not only couldn't Jack die, but he would always return to the same state he'd been in when the Daleks had Exterminated him and Rose brought him back. Yes, Jack did notice the occasional grey hair here and there and his hair _did_ grow and turn grey. Just... not at the speed it should have. Granted, Jack had gone these extended lengths of time without grooming before, but never before had he been so acutely aware of what physical changed did (or in this case _didn't_ happen to him).

He had lost track of the number of deaths he had accumulated since the incident at the Thames house. There had been a time when Jack could name, in order, every single one of his deaths and the cause of it. Now they seemed to stretch out behind and in front of him, an endless stream of rebirths and deaths that no longer had a meaning. Depression wasn't becoming on Captain Jack -- but it was hard not to slip into such a state. In the course of one day, Jack had lost his family, his humanity, and his lover -- and been forced to do unconscionable things. There wasn't a person in the world strong enough to survive all of that without it affecting him.

Save maybe the perfect Doctor. Bastard.

Jack Harkness: the modern-day Lady Macbeth who would forever see bloodstains on his hands. So many deaths, all because he was too proud and too bull-headed to listen to reason. Maybe, had he actually stopped to think, he could have avoided the entire incident and would have found a way to reason with the 456 before it had reached the point it had. He could have discovered a way to defeat them, to send them away without resorting to the death of his own flesh and blood.

Alice would never forgive him for what he did to Steven. No matter how Jack tried to explain it, he knew he had been in the wrong and had no right to take Steven's life. Yes, in the end, Jack had saved millions of lives, but at what cost? Destroying his daughter and severing any relationship he had tried to build with her over the years, while the rest of the world got to bask in the thrill of victory. Jack had a true talent for being able to screw over anyone and everyone -- particularly those he loved most. Alice's hatred of him wouldn't change how he felt about his daughter, it only caused an already open wound to fester and rot.

It was a wound that said he would never again be able to see her as her father. Killing Steven had removed that right once and for all. Hell, if he could, he'd hand over his revolver and let her get the revenge she so rightly deserved. As many times as she wanted.

Jack was his own worst enemy.

Ignoring the branches as they caught on his torn trousers, Jack picked his way through the under brush. One of these days he would find his purpose once more. Gwen was back in Cardiff, and knowing her as he did, she was working on rebuilding the Hub to its former glory. Perhaps he would return eventually, once the pain of being screwed by the people he protected didn't hurt so much.

Until then, Jack would stay where he was: tracking down obscure civilizations and items that had been nothing but long-forgotten myths. Things that had come through various Rifts across the world, falling into the hands of people who had no idea what they had. Jack may have hated the human race, he may have wanted to run away from the blue and green planet to find meaning and purpose somewhere else, but he couldn't change the part of him that automatically thought of keeping the Earth safe. In the end, Jack couldn't say 'fuck you' to the human race -- he truly was a hero beneath it all.

No matter how he wanted to believe otherwise.

***

_Hot. Wet. Sweat. Wet Heat._

_Icy hot. Warm chill._

_Strange._

_Awareness._

_Living._

_**Alive.** _

***

Five months following the explosion that rocked Cardiff to its very core, the Plass was finally finished. To the untrained eye, it looked much as it did before the bomb had destroyed it. The water fountain/sculpture was once more in place, water peacefully flowing down the mirrored walls and to the ground far below.

However, whenever Gwen Cooper-Williams looked at the space, all she could see was the gaping hole that had brought her world crashing down. Things may have been as they were but nothing felt _right_. The Tourist Shop had since been repaired, guide books on order for a shop that would never be open again. It didn't seem proper to re-open the Tourist Shop without Ianto standing behind the counter. Perhaps one day she'd come up with some other business to use as the public face of Torchwood, but for now the silent office would serve as a memorial for the man taken so brutally from them.

He hadn't even turned twenty-six yet. God, what sort of a cruel world ripped a man so young from its grasp?

It certainly wasn't the world Gwen had signed on to protect when Jack asked her to join Torchwood. What was the point of working to keep the earth safe when one alien could destroy everything in a moment? They did so much for the world and for Cardiff... and this was how they were repaid? In Gwen's professional opinion, it seemed like they were getting the short end of the proverbial stick.

And then there was Jack's lift. Sure, the flagstones and apparatus beneath were in place, but there was nothing invisible about the lift any more. Now when it lowered, there was a big gaping hole that anyone could fall into if they weren't paying attention. Jack had once mocked her for finding fault in a 'cool contraption', but now that fault had come to fruition. Still, she had to recreate his personal entrance... even if Gwen didn't know if Jack would ever return to her.

_To Torchwood,_ Gwen mentally corrected. To her _and_ Torchwood.

Gwen let her hand rest on her now bulging stomach, looking back and forth between the two monuments: where she knew the Tourist Shop sat and the Sculpture in front of her. How had they come to this? How did everything change so abruptly?

Why did they have to lose everything?

From behind, the sound of a horn drew Gwen's attention away from her thoughts. Ah, the same van and (most likely) the same idiot who showed up the last time. Gwen pressed her earpiece, calling down into the makeshift Medical Bay in the Hub below. She had insisted it be finished first for the express purpose of getting Ianto back as soon as humanly possible. He belonged here at the Hub, not with strangers.

"Robert. Come up." Gwen spoke said into the hidden mouthpiece. "They're here."

"On my way," came the immediate response.

Robert was a good bloke. Bit stuck up, but all around a good chap. Besides, he was a good doctor and they needed more than just... well... her around. Gwen had tried to contact Jack about the expansion of their decimated team, but there had been no response. She had managed to keep tabs on him, setting the databases to constantly search for reports of a strange man who couldn't die. Gwen assumed he'd go after the dangerous missions and Jack's death usually accompanied such endeavours. As always, Gwen's assumption had been right on the money. To date, Gwen had tracked him through Africa, losing track of him for six weeks before he resurfaced in Peru. At least she knew approximately where he was so that, if and when things went pear shaped, she could find him. However, finding Jack and getting him to come home were two different things. Gwen would cross that bridge when she (and Torchwod) arrived at it.

Apparently the hiring of new team members didn't constitute an emergency, even if she had sent multiple missives to him seeking his guidance and approval. In the end, Gwen had exercised her best judgement in hiring Robert Watson as the new Doctor and Janice Thompson to work general support. She stayed with the three of them in the vain hope that Jack would return soon and they wouldn't be 'over-staffed'. Granted, Gwen wondered if there was such a thing as 'over-staffed' when it came to Torchwood. Half the time even when there were five of them it felt like they could use more help.

Fifteen hour days really shouldn't be the norm at any job, right? Particularly when they happened six days a week.

There was only one rule in the Hub: no one was to touch the coffee machine. Gwen had purchased a small percolator, something she knew Ianto would disapprove of highly -- but she didn't want anyone operating the gleaming silver appliance. She owed him that much, didn't she? All right, so maybe it was stupid for her to make a damned memorial out of an appliance, but there it was and this was now her Torchwood thanks to Jack's abandonment.

"Gwen?"

A hand on her shoulder accompanied the soft voice. She had heard him approaching, the squeaky wheel of the gurney giving away Robert's attempt at a silent approach. Gwen gave a small smile in response though didn't turn to look at Robert; her eyes were fixed on the van as it backed onto the pedestrian area.

"So... that's him, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gwen replied, finally glancing askance at Robert. "That's him."

Honestly, why had she hired him? He wasn't that much older than Ianto was. Here she was, bitching about how young employees were when they died because they worked for Torchwood, and she now was perpetuating that cause. There were times Gwen was half-tempted to shut Torchwood down completely and let Cardiff fend for itself. Gwen would entertain the idea but the flight of fancy would leave her as reason kicked back in. With the Rift as out of control as it was, leaving the people of Cardiff unprotected was stupid.

Besides, it's not what Jack would have done, and to abandon Cardiff would mean Tosh, Owen, and Ianto all died in vain. Apparently Gwen had more respect for the Welsh than Jack, who up and left her time and time again.

Really -- this whole running away thing was getting really fucking old.

"You okay?" Robert asked, thumb rubbing Gwen's shoulder.

It was only when he spoke that Gwen realised tears were slipping quietly down her cheeks. Robert wordlessly handed her a handkerchief and Gwen murmured her thanks as she dabbed at her eyes. She shouldn't be the one to do this -- Jack should be here. It shouldn't be her alone. But no, Jack was off god knew where, fucking god knew what.

"I'm fine," Gwen replied, handing the damp scrap of fabric back to Robert. "Always am." She gave him a smile that was far too bright to be anywhere near sincere or real.

"Riiiiight," Robert said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm Father Christmas."

"You've lost weight," Gwen shot back.

"Oi! Which one of you is Gwen Cooper?"

Apparently the bloke was learning impaired -- he was the same bloody knob who had tried to turn the body over to her the last time and couldn't read proper English on the clipboard. If he couldn't recognise her from the last time he came by, Gwen was half tempted to ask if it was really Ianto's body in the back of the van.

"The only woman standing here," Gwen snapped in response, taking a step toward the man. "So I think it would be safe to assume that I am Gwen Cooper."

"Right then," the man replied, seemingly unphased by Gwen's brusque attitude. "Sign here and it's all yours."

" _He_ ," Gwen said, looking up mid-signature. "While he may be dead, he is still a _he_ and not an _it_. Mind having a wee bit of respect for the dead?"

While Gwen's earlier tone of voice didn't seem to have much of an effect on him, at least this time the man managed to look suitably abashed by Gwen's attitude. She handed the now signed clipboard back to him and he turned away without a word, leaving Gwen and Robert following soundlessly behind him -- well, silently save that damn squeaky wheel. The back of the van was unlocked, doors opened, and Gwen stood watch almost protectively as the boy and Robert lowered the black body bag onto the gurney. Gwen swallowed hard, fighting that wave of emotion once more as she looked at the bag, knowing Ianto lay peacefully inside and being brought to his final resting place.

"Right then, that's that. I'll leave you to it."

Gwen waved him off, turning on her heel and leading the way back to the Hub proper. One hand was on the metal railing, helping Robert steer the now-occupied gurney across the flagstones. They walked in silence (squeaky-squeak-squeak) and Gwen was relieved Robert didn't attempt to start up a conversation. Frankly, Gwen wasn't sure if she could say anything half-way intelligible.

_Damnit Jack, you should have been here. This is your job, not mine. You should be here._

They entered the Hub in silence, the only sounds coming from the teetering gurney and the siren above the cog door. Gwen led their tiny procession through the Hub, traversing walkways she knew all too well, even if they weren't the original platforms. The Hub: rebuilt completely to the original plans, ready and waiting for their Captain to re-take the reigns once more. The only question was if and when he'd show his bloody face around here again.

"Gwen? You okay, there?"

She nodded, sliding the wheeled bed under the lights in the autopsy bay. There would be no cutting into Ianto, there was no need to do anything to mutilate his body. They knew what he died of (death by Torchwood) and all that was left was to inter him in the vaults, frozen for the rest of time. Whoever decided that Torchwood operatives should be frozen ought to be thawed out and shoved somewhere to rot. Honestly, depriving families of a body to mourn over properly. Whose bright idea was that?

"I'll be fine," Gwen repeated, pulling herself from her thoughts and giving Robert a smile that was a bit too wide and too bright to be sincere. "I'll be down later to take care of the rest of the arrangements. Just hook him up to the machines."

"On it, boss."

With a curt nod, Gwen quickly excused herself from the autopsy bay and made a beeline for the cog door. She needed out of this place for a few hours before she went mad.

What Gwen needed was a large, stiff drink.

***

_Movement. Down. Down. Around._

_Familiar. Familiarity?_

_Impossible. No. No not._

_Possible._

_Homecoming._

_**Home.** _

***

Over the years, Jack had learned to trust his instincts and on the whole, they had served him well. Of course, this time Jack had been foolhardy and cocky, ignoring his instincts when it came to dealing with the 456 and look where it had gotten him: a dead grandson and a dead lover -- not to mention a hole in his soul that he knew would never be whole ever again.

Again, Jack's thoughts turned to the Doctor: a man who professed to love humanity as much as he did couldn't even show his fucking face in their hour of need. He had this argument with himself repeatedly, cursing the man he had once respected for not coming to the Earth's defence when Jack was making a mess of things. God, how different things could have been had the blue box shown up in Cardiff! Not even Cardiff -- anywhere in the isles would have suited Jack fine. Even the continent would have been fine, so long as it was close enough to enable travel to London so he could fix things.

But no -- Jack had been alone, had bumbled through it and ignored every one of his instincts that said to keep Ianto Jones far away from the Thames House. Even when Ianto had argued that the plan was stupid at the very best, Jack had silenced Ianto's concerns and done what Jack wanted to do.

Deep down, Jack had hoped the Doctor would come -- that each stupid mistake Torchwood made would somehow reach the Time Lord and he'd swoop in, right in the nick of time, and save the day.

Oh, how very wrong he'd been.

Still, for some reason, Jack believed the Doctor was going to return to the Earth and somehow manage to set things right. He kept moving about the globe, going places that seemed to have the sorts of activity that would interest the Doctor in the vain hope it would be enough to entice the man from whatever galaxy he was occupying that week. Yet, five months later and there was no sign of the Doctor. Whenever Jack was near to a computer, he would hack into the Torchwood databases, knowing that the monitors would have some record of TARDIS activity if there was some.

Nothing. Roughly a hundred and fifty days and there was _nothing_.

"Doctor, where the hell are you?"

As much as Jack didn't want to go back to Wales, he found himself moving closer to the British Isles in varying degrees. His body simply felt at home on Welsh soil, even if his heart didn't want to look upon another blue-eyed, dark haired man ever again. He'd lost too many of them over the years. He had lost Greg nearly fifty years ago and there wasn't a day that went by that Jack didn't think of the man taken as _revenge for the future_. What was Ianto, then? Revenge for the past? Revenge for sins he committed so many years ago? Revenge for sins not even contemplated?

Or nothing more than a senseless killing that, in the end, meant nothing?

No. No, it had to mean _something_. Jack couldn't live with himself if he had needlessly caused the death of the one man who had been able to keep and hold his attentions for longer than a few months.

And so, Jack found himself on a train, boot propped up on the seat across from him, watching the American countryside roll by. Few Americans travelled by train any more which meant Jack had almost the entire car to himself. He tapped a random rhythm on his knee, staring out as the lush greenery passed him by, blurring with the speed of the train.

He had no idea why he was returning to Cardiff, only that he was.

This time, Jack Harkness was going to listen to his instincts.

***

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. If it wasn't for the blinking lights and the faint, yet steady beat-pulse as the apparatus worked to lower Ianto's body temperature to Torchwood standards, Gwen would have thought he was sleeping. His body was cold, the company that had stored Ianto's body followed every instruction perfectly. Torchwood, however, had different equipment to store a body in the chambers found in the Hub.

Gwen had found the file on Jack's computer detailing exactly how Ianto's body was to be taken care of in the event of his death. There was no retrieving Ianto's suit from Jack's rooms below -- those rooms had gone the way of the dodo (not counting the one that had come through the Rift a few months ago). Retrieving them from his room? Gwen shook her head to get rid of the visual, ignoring the fact that she had seen them once before en flagrante delecto. Having clothes in Jack's rooms meant there was something more than just a quick fuck. Deep down, there was a part of Gwen that had always assumed their relationship wasn't that serious. Certainly not 'move in and live together' serious. From what Gwen knew of Jack, she couldn't imagine him in a committed relationship, no matter how she had dreamed he would whisk her away from Rhys and...

But she digressed.

In the absence of a suit in the Hub, Gwen had returned to Ianto's flat and retrieved something suitably (pardon the pun) appropriate. What else could she grab but a three-piece pinstripe suit? Pressed and hung on a drawer handle behind her, the suit waited to dress its owner for the last time in preparation for his final resting place. Reverently, Gwen removed Ianto's current tie and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, all the while thinking it was _Jack_ who should be doing this. Not her.

God knew where the hell he was these days. So many times over the past five months she had tried contacting him and when she knew Ianto's body was to be delivered to the Hub, she had tried to find him yet again to no avail. For months she had been able to track him, then suddenly he had completely disappeared off the face of the Earth. Either she didn't have the right channels to locate him or Jack simply didn't want to be found. _Nice way to treat your lover,_ Gwen silently chided. _Don't even come home for his 'funeral'._ Gwen wasn't surprised -- Jack was behaving like a damned child who packed up his toys when things didn't go his way. When, what he should have done, was be a man and stay here for the rest of them.

Stay here for _her_.

Ianto's shirt parted and Gwen's gaze was immediately drawn to his bare torso and the large red tattoo that curled around his waist. Yes, Gwen had seen Ianto nude from the waist up that _one_ time, but her eyes had been more focused on Jack and the fact that Ianto's hand was wrapped around Jack's cock than looking at any physical body features. But now that there was nothing to distract her, Gwen found herself staring at the tattoo. It was a over-sized image of the Welsh dragon, head resting on Ianto's abdomen while the rest curled around his torso, leaving Gwen to wonder how big the thing really was. A small silver chain and leather necklace encircled his neck and was now visible, having been completely hidden by his crisply pressed oxford shirt and tie. Looking at Ianto's half-nude body, she began to realise there was so much to Ianto that she never knew. Here was a man that, for as long as she had known him (with very rare exceptions; the trip to the country coming immediately to mind), always wore a suit and appeared to be the epitome of propriety. With hair rarely out of place and always ready with a cup of coffee or a caustic remark, Ianto seemed to be the sort that curled up with a book at the end of the day and never broke the law.

Yet a tattoo seemed to negate her idealistic view of the office boy, instead creating the image of a man who kept his real thoughts and feelings hidden behind a tie. It begged the question of how much Jack really knew about Ianto; how much _any_ of them knew.

"Funny thing, really."

Gwen frowned, finally tearing her gaze away from the tattoo as she heard Robert's voice behind her.

"What's funny?" She asked, her voice harsher than she intended.

Gwen reached for the bowl of cool beside her and the accompanying white cloth, soaking it in the warm, sudsy liquid. Letting the soap soak into the rag, Gwen wrung it out and began to use the damp towel to carefully sponge Ianto's body clean.

"Hear that slow beeping?"

"Yes... it's the machines or something. I'm not the doctor, that's why I hired you." Gwen paused. "Well, I suppose you're going to tell me what it is regardless of if I want to know or not, so why don't you just tell me?"

A beat pause, as if Robert was attempting to build up suspense. "It's his heartbeat," he finally said.

The bowl of water fell from where it was perched in Gwen's lap and hit the cement floor with a loud clatter. Her boots and jeans were instantly soaked as the water splashed onto her legs, while Gwen stared at Ianto's body in shock.

"Heartbeat? What bloody heartbeat?" Gwen asked, eyes wide. This _was_ Torchwood where anything could happen but she had seen Ianto laying cold and still in the morgue.

He was dead and nothing but wishful thinking was ever going to bring him back.

"Well? What fucking heartbeat?" Gwen pressed, turning in her stool to face Robert. "Don't start something and then leave it to me to fill in the blanks.

"Weeeeeeell," Robert drew the word out, his intonation sounding a bit like Owen's when he wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone else. Must have been a personality trait amongst doctors to be right arses at the worst possible times. Robert crossed to her, carefully stepping over the spilled, soapy water to stand beside Gwen. "I didn't think it was possible and honestly thought I was going mental. I did some investigation but managed to find what the sound was and it's Ianto's heartbeat. It's weak and quite faint, but it's there. Robert spread his hands wide, a smirk settling into his features.

For what Robert had to say next, Gwen was relieved she was already sitting down.

"Gwen? Ianto Jones is alive."


	2. Chapter 2

_Home but not home._

_Cold but not cold._

_Dead but not dead._

_Confused._

_Need answers._

_None there._

***

It was strange being back in Cardiff after so many months of travel. His first stop had been at a military supply store, replacing his tattered greatcoat with a similar model. Bless the surplus stores and their stock (though limited) of 1940s RAF greatcoats. Having his coat back and in pristine condition went a long way toward making Jack feel like himself again.

If he hadn't been the result of the crater in the centre of the Plass, Jack never would have known an explosion had rocked Cardiff to its very core. The Plass looked as it once did: flagstones in place and the water tower stood proudly, both identifying and hiding the Hub from view. Jack knew the Hub (no longer _his_ Hub, just _the_ Hub) had long-since been rebuilt -- he had seen all of Gwen's messages, even if he refused to respond to a single one. Jack knew he never should have returned to Cardiff in the first place, no matter how his body yearned to return to familiar soil. If he turned his back on the Hub now, Jack was certain Gwen would see it and read his action as a final abandonment. The Gwen he knew would have already reinstalled the CCTV cameras that kept watch over the Roald Dahl Plass so he knew she'd see him leave.

And yet... Jack knew he couldn't walk away. As much as he wanted to say 'fuck you' to Torchwood, a century of service ingrained a sense of duty into Jack.

Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his greatcoat, Jack bent his head against the wind and marched towards the lift, pausing just before his foot touched the flagstone. The woman who was walking behind consequently slammed into Jack when he stopped abruptly, showed her displeasure by cursing at Jack in Welsh.

"I might not speak it, but I think I can guess what you said," Jack muttered under his breath.

Really, she should have been thanking him. At least -- she should have under normal circumstances. Only belatedly did Jack realise he had no way of activating the lift and if he _could_ there was no perception filter to hide the gaping hole. Jack was suddenly struck by a memory standing out so stark and clear in his mind's eye it actually brought a smile to Jack's face.

_"How does it work?"_

_"No idea. We know how to use it, not how it happens, but if I were to guess, I would say that there was once a dimensionally transcendental chameleon circuit placed right on this spot which welded its perception properties to a spacio-temporal rift. But that sounds kinda ridiculous. Invisible lift has got more of a ring to it, don't'cha think?"_

_"But hold on, if no one can see it when the lift's coming up, there's a bloody big hole in the floor, don't people fall in?"_

_"That is so Welsh."_

_"What is?"_

_"I show you something fantastic. You find fault."_

The lack of a lift meant only one thing -- Jack was going to have to go in through the front door. His head turned, eyes following the path he knew led to the Tourist Office and shuddered. There were only two entrances to the Hub: his lift or through Ianto's office. To be quite honest, Jack didn't want to have anything to do with the 'front' business of Torchwood and didn't fancy entering without seeing the smiling face of the Welshman behind the desk. However, there was no other entrance. _Fuck._

Jack gritted his jaw, withdrew his hands long enough to turn his collar up against the cold wind and began the slow march to the Tourist Office. Small memories pricked at the back of his mind and while he tried to keep them at bay, they began to come unbridled. Memories of the team going out for drinks (or in Jack's case, water), Ianto harassing him and pushing him into hiring him with bribes of coffee, Weevil hunting and returning to the Hub bruises and worse for wear, falling into bed with Ianto and needing the solace they could afford one another.

Things that would never again occur.

Jack opened the door to the Tourist Office, surprised to find it unlocked. Boxes littered the floor of the office and Jack wondered if they were the remnants of orders Ianto had filled or if someone was thinking of taking it over. The shop itself was dusty, Jack's boots kicking up small clouds as he walked, adding to the trail of footprints on the floor. He almost smiled -- _almost_ \-- thinking how Ianto would have rolled over in his grave seeing the state of disrepair in the office. Even as Ianto's job had morphed over the years, moving from 'butler' to 'general support' to 'lover' to 'full-fledged operative', Ianto had never once shirked when it came to the duties he originally bargained for when Jack hired him. Of course, the thought of Ianto rolling in his grave made Jack's stomach turn.

And Ianto had wondered if Jack would still remember him in years. What a silly, silly thought, Mr Jones. The question was: would Jack ever be able to _forget_ him?

In the back of his mind, Jack knew he was being unreasonable: the role of a guilt-ridden lover didn't suit him well. Jack had gone from having a family one moment, something he rarely allowed himself to have, to being completely alone in the Universe the next.

Without looking at the rest of the office, Jack reached around the desk and pressed the hidden button, letting the cog wheel slide out of place to reveal the passageway behind. Head down, Jack headed through the door and walked through the corridors leading down to the Hub, passages he knew like the back of his hand yet seemed unfamiliar due to their rebuilt nature. And, really, the place didn't even smell right! Where was the smell of must that accompanied his sewer chic design sense?

"Oi! Who're you?"

Jack frowned, eyebrows knitting together. He moved to look at the owner of the unfamiliar voice that called out to him.

"Could be asking the same thing as you. Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my Hub?" Jack paused, the words slipping off his tongue far too easily. "The Hub," he quickly amended. " _The_ Hub."

"You always this prickly?"

"Let's call it a result of a very bad week," Jack replied dryly. "Or a very bad year. Take your pick. So now, answer the question."

"I asked you first."

Oh this was going fantastically. Jack drew his lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing. "I'll ask you one more time," he said, enunciating each word carefully. "Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?"

" _Jack!_ "

At last, a voice he knew. Jack turned away from the brunette, his sour expression replaced by something that could almost be called a smile. Wow, Jack could remember how to smile. Amazing.

"Gwen Cooper. As I live and breathe!"

The accent was horrible, mocking old American films, southern hospitality dripping from his accent. For the briefest of moments, Gwen stayed rooted to the spot, staring at Jack as if he had grown a second head. Which, for the record, _had_ happened once or twice before, leading to a fantastic night with another two-headed being (and a three-headed thing with six mouths), but that was beside the point right now. Whatever spell Gwen had been under broke as her face cracked into a wide grin. The 'Gone with the Wind' accent never failed to bring a smile to Gwen's face. Without a word, she launched (and by launched, Jack meant 'waddled quickly') herself at Jack, throwing her arms around him as best as she could with her enlarged stomach.

"Christ, you're as big as a house!" Jack observed, once Gwen finally released him from her death-grip hug.

"Always this observant, Harkness?" Gwen teased, gesturing to her belly first, then put her hands on her hips. "I seem to remember you being the first to know I was pregnant."

"Oi! Who's the bloke in the coat?" The unknown girl's shrill voice rang out once more, Jack had forgotten she was there once he caught sight of Gwen.

Jack twisted away from Gwen and glared once more -- eyes narrowed, upper lip curling, the whole nine yards. He wasn't in the mood for this, nor was he inclined to deal with some little pissant who wanted to show her teeth by biting into him. He was too fucking old to deal with this shite. Jack growled softly under his breath before pointedly turning his back on her and returning to his conversation with Gwen. Gwen, however, was staring open-mouthed at the girl behind him.

"Janice! Is that any way to talk to your boss?

Enter pandemonium, stage right.

"He's not my--"

"I'm not her boss!"

They exploded in unison, though Janice abruptly shut her mouth after receiving yet another death glare from Jack, and had the good sense to take a step backwards. Smart girl to put space between herself and Jack. Maybe Jack misjudged her -- naaaah. He was an excellent judge of character.

"As I was saying," Jack continued, ignoring Janice once more. "I'm not her boss as I sure as hell didn't hire her."

"Well you would have if you answered any of my messages," Gwen pointed out, poking Jack in the chest. "You didn't so I took the initiative to get some help. If you haven't noticed, I'm a wee bit on the pregnant side right now. Not to mention that you _left_ me Jack!" Gwen stepped forward and shoved Jack hard, forcing him backwards and into Janice. "Though after all this time, I'm not sure why I'm even surprised any more! Just keep running off and leaving us to fend for ourselves. Only this time I was all by myself, Jack. Ianto --"

" _Enough!_ " Jack erupted, "I will not have you lecture me on things you don't fucking understand." Jack stepped away from Janice after a muttered apology, his soft voice sounding strange after the volume he'd achieved a few moments ago. He took a step towards Gwen, squaring off against his employee. "It's not always all about you, Gwen." Jack's voice was low, dangerously so, pointing a finger in her face.

"I lost him too!" Gwen shouted, her voice echoing across the Hub.

Jack's jaw tightened as he stared at Gwen. Janice, he could imagine, wanted to be anywhere but where she was. "You can go," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder. Jack heard a grateful 'thanks' sent in his direction, followed soon by the patter of feet as she made her way back to her workstation.

Now it was down to Jack and Gwen. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, words to shout, but none of it was for Gwen's ears. They were words owed the man laying frozen in the vaults. Jack moved, giving Gwen the view of his back while he watched Janice pick her way through the Hub.

"By the way?" Jack called down to the girl. She paused, looking up at Jack. "Welcome. What's your name, then?"

"Janice. Janice Thompson."

"Pleasure," Jack said, his voice as smooth as caramel which he knew would piss Gwen off all the more. "Cap'n Jack Harkness."

She offered up a small smile and Jack knew they had some bit of a truce between them. Just because he was pissed at the world didn't mean he could take it out on anyone and everyone, no matter how much he wanted to. God, maybe he was finally on the road to recovery! He actually thought about someone other than himself. He watched Janice make her way to her area -- Tosh's he noticed with a sigh. So many times over the years, Jack had watched those work areas change hands; yet another curse of his extended life and that of Torchwood. Ianto had always focused on the number of people that died before the age of thirty -- Jack hadn't put much stock in it until now. He never wanted to think about losing Ianto before he died a natural death at the ripe old age of one hundred.

"Jack--"

Jack held up his hand, shaking his head. "Don't. We can do the apology thing; kiss and make up later." He offered her a half-smile, pushing past Gwen and made his way through the Hub. Again, Jack was struck by the difference in the scent of his Hub and the new Hub as he wound through -- but in five years, Jack knew the two Hubs would be virtually indistinguishable. Furthermore, deep down, Jack knew he would be around in those five years to watch the Hubs meld together in his mind.

As Jack wandered through, he noticed bits and baubles that had been salvaged from the wreckage. Jack had to admit that Gwen had done a damn good job rebuilding this place and he knew he couldn't have done it better himself. Hearing a screech from somewhere within the Hub, Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was safe. Apparently Myfanwy hadn't been in the Hub at the time of the explosion. Thank god for letting her roam free at night to hunt. Jack passed by the cells, poked his head in and winced when he found them to be empty. Janet... well... apparently Janet hadn't been so lucky. But then again, wouldn't take them long to capture another Weevil and cheekily rechristen it Janet the Second.

Winding through the Hub, Jack felt his pace slow as he reached the vaults... the cold storage area that contained all of the dearly departed Torchwood employees. He knew he needed to say goodbye, but at the same time Jack didn't want to see Ianto in his final resting place. Up until now, Jack had been able to hold out for some sort of a miracle but now? This was finality.

Jack heard steps behind and knew Gwen was following him. Fine, he didn't care what she did, it wasn't as if she would listen if he told her to leave him alone.

"Jack there's... something you should know about--" Gwen said, stopping to stand beside Jack.

"What vault number?" Jack asked, interrupting.

"Zero-Zero-Seven."

Jack closed his eyes and smiled. Yes, Gwen would have done something like that, putting Ianto in the space marked '007'. Hell, Jack would have done the same thing, knowing it would have appealed to the Ianto's warped sense of humour.

"Really, Jack, there's something you need to know."

Ignoring Gwen once more, Jack pulled the cryo-chamber out, rubbing away the frost that immediately clung to the glass. Everything appeared to be in order... wait. What were those? Jack frowned, looking at the monitors attached to the outside of the glass box, a soft blip registering every ten seconds. It was a steady beat, a beat that had no right to be there.

No, it couldn't...

"What is this? What...?"

Jack felt a hand on his shoulder while an impossibly large lump formed in his throat. He gulped, trying to swallow it but to no avail. He didn't dare dream for the miracle he had hoped for.

"He's alive," Gwen said softly. "We don't know how, only that he is."

The floor fell out from under Jack.

"How--"

Gwen shook her head, thumb lightly rubbing Jack's back. "He's alive. Isn't that enough?"

Jack turned back to Ianto and nodded, feeling a sense of purpose slip back into his life once more: to bring Ianto back from whatever had tried to kill him. Once Torchwood had taken everything from him, and now, it had returned _something_. The alien tech they salvaged and studied was about to be bent his own whims and bring Ianto Jones back from 'the dead'. Jack knew he would need the Doctor for this, knew he would need the man's knowledge to make this work -- but Jack would try his damnedest in the meantime.

"By the way? You might want this."

Jack twisted his body toward Gwen, seeing her holding out his Vortex Manipulator, surprisingly not even singed from when it had been blown apart with him. Well, maybe it seemed that everything he was wearing at the time was indestructible. Shame he'd gotten rid of those leather trousers in the seventies. Jack took the wrist strap without a word, buckling it onto his left wrist once more. Piece by piece, bit by bit, Jack's life was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

Slowly, things were beginning to look up.

***

_Anger. Rage. Denial. Acceptance._

_Disbelief?_

_Comfort. Old friend. Lover._

_Partner._

_Help coming._

_**Thump........thump........thump.** _

***

Jack's subsequent trips abroad had been cancelled and his thoughts turned to one purpose: pulling Ianto from whatever stasis he was in. Jack didn't know if his body was still fighting off the virus courtesy of the 456 or if it was something else that had kept him alive, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this. The time he wasn't researching or pouring through files in the archives were spent down in the vaults with Ianto.

At the end of yet another long day, Jack found himself on the stool beside Ianto's cryochamber. When he was down here, the rest of the team knew not to bother them. They were good kids, if a bit young, but Jack knew that Gwen had found the best group for the job.

As he did every night, Jack opened the door to chamber '007' and slid the box out. A quick check of the monitors confirmed that everything was as it should be: the slow, steady heartbeat continued to pound, a small blip registering every ten seconds.

No change -- it was both a good and a bad thing.

Jack stared at the frozen form of his lover, using this time to (once more) let his guilt take over. While he couldn't sit at Steven's grave knowing full well that Alice would have his head if she found him there, this was the only place he could go to mourn everything he had lost that day. Jack rested an elbow against the frigid glass, drawing a pattern in the condensation with his finger. By the time he was done, he had drawn the outline of a tattoo, the same tattoo he had traced with his tongue on any number of occasions. To think he had mocked Ianto the first time he had found it. As their relationship turned from professional into that of lovers, Jack had grown to love the dragon that curled around his lover's waist.

Not to mention the fact that he knew it existed beneath those perfectly pressed suits. Jack smiled, lightly kissing the glass over where Ianto's heart was.

"Not today," Jack murmured, even though he knew Ianto couldn't hear him through the glass chamber. "But I'm getting there."

Closing his eyes, head leaning against the door to chamber '006', Jack let himself slip into the comfort of a memory, allowing his body to catch up on a few hours of sleep.

_"Busy?"_

_Jack picks his head up and smiles catching sight of Ianto standing in the doorway, leaning and trying to look casual. His eyes flick to the twin cups of coffee in Ianto's hands and Jack's smile grows. Coffee and Ianto: is there anything better?_

_"Not particularly," Jack replies, holding his hand out for the cup of coffee. There's no 'please' and the only 'thank you' Ianto receives is Jack's hand on Ianto's knee as he settles on the edge of the desk. "Finishing up the last of the work for the night." He takes a sip and sighs. "I swear, you put cocaine in this."_

_"Sir?"_

_"It's the only logical explanation as to why I can't go a day without a cup."_

_"You mean a day without downing an entire pot?" Ianto corrects, raising an eyebrow._

_"Sure, argue semantics," Jack replies with a roll of his eyes, sliding his hand up Ianto's thigh._

_"I will do what I want. I'm the one who brings you the coffee and you would do well to remember that as well," Ianto answers dryly, pushing Jack's hand away from his groin and back to his knee. "Sir, one of these days you'll remember that the main wall of your office is made entirely of **glass** and I don't fancy exposing myself to the rest of the Hub."_

_Jack slides his hand back up Ianto's thigh, though this time Ianto doesn't push it away. Sensing a bit of a victory, Jack slides his chair closer, forcing Ianto's knees apart to put his body between his thighs. There is a hint of a smile on Jack's face, though it's hard to tell if it's because of the coffee he's consumed or how close he is to Ianto. Ianto sighs, as if he knows better than to dissuade Jack -- but the way his long fingers brush against Jack's cheek belie any further protestations made on his part._

_"Jack..." Ianto murmurs, drawing the vowel out in his soft tones._

_Resting his chin on Ianto's knee, Jack looks up at Ianto with the best air of innocence he can manage. Innocence isn't an expression that fits Jack's face well and, instead makes him appear almost devilish in nature. Ianto sighs, shifting his body closer to Jack while his fingers begin to trace patterns in Jack's scalp. Jack knows he's Ianto's weakness and he loves that he can get under the skin of the Welshman so easily._

_Jack's hand has travelled slowly upwards, nearing the growing bulge in Ianto's trousers. He is nearing his goal when Ianto's fingers clamp down around Jack's wrist, effectively halting his progress. Jack's head turns, eyebrows knitting together in a silent question. Rather than responding, Ianto downs the rest of his coffee and pulls the stopwatch out of his waistcoat pocket._

_Instantly, a smile spreads across Jack's face._

_"Ten minutes," Ianto says, pressing down the top button of the stopwatch and the accompanying sound of mechanical clockworks fills the near-silent office._

_Jack slides his chair back to allow Ianto to stand up, though his hand still lingers on Ianto's hip. Ianto bends down, brushing his lips across Jack's in one of his frustrating, teasing kisses: deep enough to get the heart racing but not long enough to satisfy. Ianto flicks his gaze to the ticking stopwatch and smiles._

_"Nine minutes, eighteen seconds," Ianto murmurs as he picks up his coffee mug and quickly exits, leaving Jack alone with his coffee._

_The minutes seem to tick by agonizingly slow. Jack glances at his watch every few seconds as if willing the second hand to move faster. Three minutes to go and Jack has finished his coffee, tapping his foot anxiously against his desk._

_Two minutes and Jack has removed his spitfire cufflinks, setting them on his desk. There is a bounce in his step as Jack winds his way through the Hub, making his way down to bowels and the Archives. Jack no sooner opens the door to Section D when he is forceably grabbed and pulled inside. The kiss from the office was nothing more than a warmup and Jack is finally able to reach that level of satisfaction he has been craving. Jack may have made the first move up in his office, but down here and away from prying eyes, Ianto is all action._

_Jack spreads his legs just enough as Ianto works his knee between his thighs, slowly rutting against the appendage. Ianto's hands seem to be everywhere at once while they kiss, Ianto's tongue mapping every centimetre of Jack's mouth. The friction feels fantastic, though rather than providing any sort of relief it only adds to his arousal. He feels his braces slipped off his shoulders, followed quickly by Ianto carefully unbuttoning his oxford. Oh Ianto -- even in the heat of passion, Jack loves how Ianto still takes care in undressing him._

_Sliding his hands up from Ianto's hips, Jack's fingers race along the buttons of Ianto's waistcoat, taking care to properly unbutton each one. He's been on the receiving end of a few 'talking tos' after buttons were ripped from the pinstripe fabric. However, Jack's eagerness gets the better of him by the time he reaches Ianto's shirt, buttons half unbuttoned properly, half popped open. Ianto groans into his mouth and Jack's unsure if it's from the speed or because he'll have to mend his shirt._

_The buttons hit the floor like stilletto taps are but soon forgotten as soon as Jack's fingers touch heated flesh. Reluctantly, Jack breaks the kiss and manages to flip their positions, Ianto's body bouncing against the closed door. Jack takes a moment, raking his gaze over the form of his half nude lover and licks his lips in anticipation._

_With a predatory grin, Jack dips his head to Ianto's chest and the oh so tempting tattoo that curled around his body. Jack still remembers the first time they played and the shock at seeing such a tattoo marring Ianto's skin. The nice, proper Welshman -- with a tattoo that covered most of his torso. Of course, over the course of the next few months, Jack came to realise the suits hid one hell of a dirty mind._

_A mind he so adores._

_The tip of Jack's tongue peeks out, running along the outline of the tattoo, just below Ianto's nipple. He feels Ianto shudder under his ministrations and he redoubles his efforts, wanting to hear a groan edged with that delicious accent. Ianto's hands thread through Jack's hair in an attempt to urge him downwards, but Jack refuses to be budged. Instead, his tongue flicks along the red dragon, nipping every so often, though any marks to the skin are hidden by the red ink. It's not the mark that matters but the way Ianto reacts to Jack's ministrations. He grins as he feels Ianto shudder under his touch, hands threading through his hair in an attempt to be pushed to his knees._

_Jack is only too willing to slide to the cold concrete, hands sliding along Ianto's trouser clad thighs. He looks up at Ianto through his lashes, leaning forward and rubbing his nose against Ianto's straining erection. From above, he can hear Ianto suck in a breath and Jack redoubles his efforts. Lips part and Jack presses open mouthed kisses to his trouser front, still not pulling down his zip._

_"Dammit, Jack," Ianto hisses, tugging at Jack's hair. "Infernal. Tease."_

_Every word is enunciated, punctuated by pushing his hips forward. Ianto is begging with his hips, his body pleading for some bit of relief from his lover. While Jack would like to keep Ianto on that proverbial high-wire, his own arousal is growing and he wants, no **needs** to taste his lover. Ianto sighs in relief as his belt is unbuckled, followed by the top button popping open and the zip being pulled down._

_Jack tugs the elastic of his boxers down just enough to expose his cock. He wastes no time and leans forward, sucking Ianto down. Thank god there's so much concrete and stone between them or someone may have come down to investigate what could make that loud of a moan. It is, however, music to Jack's ears. He completely assaults Ianto's cock with tongue and pressure, alternating between sucking only on the head and taking as much of him into his mouth as possible. Jack lightly grazes his teeth along the underside while his hand slides between Ianto's legs to rub at his balls. Ianto is almost vibrating, his nails grazing Jack's scalp, then running along his face. They don't need words any more -- actions speak louder._

_He knows Ianto is close, he can tell in the way Ianto shifts his weight and in how his breath hitches. Jack redoubles his efforts, slackening his jaw to pull him completely into his mouth. Above, Ianto whimpers, hips slowly thrusting as he fucks Jack's mouth._

_Close. Ianto is so close. Just a **little** more --_

Jack jerked awake, neck stiff from the way he fell asleep and pissed at his unfortunate timing. He scrubbed at his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes and gingerly righted himself. Ianto was still in his frosted-over chamber, that blip still beeping every ten seconds. He brushed away the frost with his hand, looking down through the swath his hand created. He'd figure it out -- somehow, he'd find away to bring Ianto back.

Deep down, Jack knew it would take intervention by the Doctor to set things right. In the past two weeks he clocked more hours in the Archives than he had in the past hundred years. If Jack couldn't figure out on his own, it meant Jack would have to 'phone a friend'. Only problem was that said friend didn't have a working phone line. And there was one other problem: Jack wasn't sure he wanted to see the Doctor again or how it would feel to see the Doctor again for that matter. The Doctor had screwed them all when he had abandoned Earth as he had. Therein lay the conundrum: see the Doctor and fix things -- but not wanting to ever see the Doctor again.

Well, fuck.

One thing was for certain: there was a fist with the Doctor's name on it. Well, maybe he _did_ know how he'd feel when the Doctor finally showed his face in Cardiff once more and had played it out repeatedly in his head.

"He'll come," Jack murmured against the glass, his hot breath fogging it over once more. "And if he doesn't, I'll bloody make him come." Jack pressed his lips to the glass, first over Ianto's forehead, then his lips, before sliding him back into the chamber and closing the door.

***

_Faith. Hope._

_Coming._

_**Jack.** _


	3. Chapter 3

Following the revelation that Ianto was still alive: Jack's ammunition budget was nowhere as large as it once was. Still, nightly, he stood outside in the Plass, staring up at the night sky as if he could entice the Doctor back down to Earth. On one hand, he needed the Doctor's assistance -- on the other, he was still pissed the man hadn't shown up and through his inaction, consequently put them into this predicament.

Really, the Doctor was within a rock and a hard place where Jack Harkness was concerned. There was no way he could win. Jack wasn't sure he wanted an apology either -- all he wanted was the Doctor to fix things.

Apologies could come later.

When he heard the TARDIS engines, Jack was more inclined to believe this was nothing more than a figment of a very over-active imagination. How long had he been staring at the sky night after night, waiting for the Doctor to show his face once more? It was only logical that Jack would be subject to flights of fancy after a while.

"Jack."

The voice was low, but Jack would know it anywhere. Fantastic, he was entering new levels of psychosis. Either Jack's delusions were rapidly reaching a whole new level or the Doctor had decided to show his face around here. Slowly, Jack turned and saw a rather dapper looking Doctor standing there, complete with top hat and tuxedo. Where the hell did he think he was going looking like that?

The rage that had been bottled up inside Jack for so long burst like a dam and Jack did nothing to stop it. Not even the knowledge that he needed the Doctor's assistance could contain Jack's anger. In this, irrationality won out. At least he was enough in his right mind to keep his revolver holstered, even if the thought had crossed his mind to send the Doctor through a couple of regenerations.

Fantasies were one thing but deep down Jack knew he wasn't a murderer. That, however, didn't stop him from launching himself at the other man, his right hand balling into a fist.

A feral growl burst from his lips as he reared back, fist connecting squarely with the Doctor's jaw. Off went the top hat and Jack didn't care if the Doctor fell with it. At last, standing before him was the man he loved so deeply and yet had abandoned him when it really mattered. When things were out of hand, Jack knew when to step back and let someone else take over and fix his mistakes. Ego aside, Jack knew he wasn't perfect and when he needed help. Looks? Well, those were perfect. Actions and the ability to solve everything -- not by a long shot.

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Jack spat, lashing out with yet another punch, this time to the chest. "Let me guess, you had a date that was just too fucking important to miss? Sorry that the earth getting in peril was standing in the way of the sex life I didn't even think you had. Then again, I never realised it was proper etiquette to take your right hand out for dinner every now and again. Just make sure your left doesn't get jealous."

Jack stood, arms crossed as the hole in the side of his head continued to heal. "So tell me, _Doctor_ ," the name came out like a vile curse, "what was so fucking important that you stayed away from us when we needed you the most?"

The rest of the question, _When I needed you...?_ went unasked, but the words were there in Jack's eyes.

There hadn't been time for the Doctor to prepare for the punch or the onslaught of obscenities thrown in his direction. Jack knew it was a blow far below the belt, but he was past the point of caring. He was going to ride out his anger until he couldn't feel anymore... then worry about fixing his relationship with the man and solicit his help. Maybe Jack should have waited until _after_ Ianto was alive to lash out. Oh well... hindsight was twenty-twenty as they said.

The Doctor's top had had long since blown away, skittering across the flagstones at the first punch and rolled along its brim until it fell into the sea. Oops. Jack stood, arms crossed in front of his chest while he waited for the Doctor to right himself. There was a smirk of self-satisfaction watching the Time Lord spit blood out onto the pavement, marring his pristine white gloves with burnt orange blood. Served him right indeed for turning his back on the Earth.

There was a part of Jack that winced seeing the Doctor's blood on the pavement. However, that bit was small and insignificant in comparison to the larger part that wanted to cause the Doctor as much pain as Jack had been through over the past few months. Jack wanted nothing more than to pummel the Doctor's face into an unrecognisable pulp.

The blood didn't phase Jack., nor did the way the Doctor spat it onto the ground. Jack was only sorry he didn't cause more damage. He'd have kneed him in the groin, but it wasn't like that bit of equipment was getting any use right now, was it?

Jack was in the middle of planning the next area to attack (he was thinking a heel to the knee would do quite nicely) when the Doctor exploded. Well, Jack wasn't sure the other man even had a temper to lose. Yes, he knew the stories -- the Oncoming Storm -- but this was the first time Jack had seen it in such close proximity.

"That is _enough_!" The Doctor snapped, shouting at Jack. "I didn't come because I couldn't, all right? You want to know, Jack? I had to be the one to destroy _Gallifrey_ , knowing that my son was still there. And a hundred other children. I couldn't watch the human race hand over their children so easily, alright? Is that good enough for you?"

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that the Doctor chose to ignore the commentary on sexuality, even though the comment had been rather inspired.

Jack was finding it hard to be afraid of the Doctor even as he lost his temper. When a body couldn't die, it was hard to be afraid of the Destroyer of Worlds. The Doctor could do whatever he liked to Jack, Jack would keep coming back. If a bomb in his abdomen couldn't do anything to him, what could the Doctor do?

Not a goddamn thing, that's what.

"Yes, you could have," Jack shot back, pointing at the TARDIS. "You set your coordinates, hit the thing with a hammer a few times and could have come here to help us!"

"No. I am not just a tool that turns up and sorts every damned problem out for humanity, Jack. I will not be treated like that."

Apparently, the Doctor didn't get it.

"Guess what, we didn't hand over the children. Aren't you proud?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowing. "Managed to get through the whole thing all by ourselves." The sarcasm dripping from his voice was so thick one could almost see it hanging in the air. "Well, I should say almost. There were a few casualties along the way, but let me guess -- so long as we came through it and the children were safe, who cares about the cannon fodder that had to be lost along the way, right?"

The snarl was back in Jack's voice as he looked at the man he had so much respect for -- and still did even though he wanted to send the man through a regeneration. He ignored the Doctor's soft "No..." glossed over the lack of fury in the Doctor's voice.

"Yeah, we only lost a few people in the end. One child, and the staff at the Thames House. Not to mention one of our team members, but I'm sure in your view one less Torchwood member is a good thing."

_Yes, Doctor. Ask me who had to be sacrificed along the way. I dare you._

"Jack, pack it in! I already told you -- your Torchwood is something to be proud of, so just shut up!" Still, Jack could watch the pieces falling into place in the Doctor's mind, trying to put names to the faces he'd seen only once before. "But... no. Not Gwen. Or Ianto? They're good people..." The Doctor swallowed hard but his face was a mask and Jack couldn't read anything into it.

Jack wasn't about to say anything either. He was going to wait for the Doctor to speak. He had all the time in the world.

"I'm sorry, Jack," The Doctor finally settled on, looking as if the words were difficult for him to say. "I'm so sorry."

Even with the apology, the Doctor didn't have much of a chance right now where Jack and his anger were concerned. Jack was out for blood (which he'd already gotten) and there was very little that was going to assuage him further -- that apology he thought he wanted didn't help. He needed someone to lash out at, as he very well couldn't rant and scream at Gwen; not only wouldn't it do any good, but Jack was afraid it would result in Jack admitting a few things to the woman that he didn't want her knowing. It was none of her business to know how much Ianto had meant to him. He did have an image to protect after all.

Yet, Jack had a feeling such admissions were going to slip any moment -- his anger was causing him to speak before he could think, words spewing forth from his mouth before he could stop them.

"I never said you were a tool that needed to come and sort out every little problem. To be quite honest, Torchwood was doing just fine when it comes to the mundane and even some of the extraordinary problems in Cardiff and elsewhere. However..." It was the 'however' that was the problem. "Bloody hell, Doctor, couldn't you see that we fucking needed help? If things looked so bad, why did you turn your back on us? I'm sure if Martha had rung you on the mobile you'd have been here in two seconds flat. Maybe three."

Speaking of, the reason Martha hadn't rung the Doctor was another bone of contention that he'd bring up whenever he saw her again.

"I'm not your saviour, Jack. I can't solve everything."

Jack shook his head, brushing the Doctor's words aside. He was on a roll and was going to ignore anything the Doctor tried to say until he managed to say his piece. "Yes," Jack said, making eye contact with the Doctor. He was going for broke when it came to the dramatics, the Doctor wasn't the only one who possessed such a flair. His earlier apology had been enough of a question of 'who' for Jack. "A child. My own flesh and blood even. Hard to take someone else's son for such a heinous reason, so best to destroy my grandson right?"

How was that for a revelation?

Jack let the knowledge of the Thames House deaths sink in, watching the Doctor for a good, long time. The expressions that flashed across the Doctor's face were victory enough and hopefully the Doctor was beginning to realise what had happened because he hadn't come. Jack was feeling the fight begin to seep out of him even as he struggled to hold onto it. He needed his anger, otherwise he knew he was going to break down in front of his friend -- in spite of the words he had used or the punches that had been thrown -- he still considered the Doctor to be a friend.

"Torchwood?" Jack snorted softly. "It _was_ something for me to be proud of," Jack retorted, putting the emphasis on the word was. And then he lost Ianto -- then nothing mattered any longer. "There are times I regret you taking me with you," Jack said softly. "That I should have allowed myself to be blown to bits on that warship. I told you once I thought I was better off as a coward."

There was only one piece of the puzzle Jack had withheld; one last thing the Doctor needed to know.

"I lost my partner." Jack swallowed -- letting the bombshell drop where it would. Perhaps it was cruel to reveal not only Ianto's death in this manner but his relationship (Yes, Doctor, _relationship_ ) to the other man. Jack wasn't feeling generous. "Ianto."

At last the Doctor raised his head and made eye contact with Jack. "Oh... Oh, Jack."

The Doctor closed his eyes and Jack let him have the moment to digest everything. He didn't know what he wanted the Doctor to say, all he wanted was for the Doctor to realise what had happened due to his inaction. Given the way the Doctor's mouth twisted and the way his throat worked to swallow, Jack realised he had achieved his goal.

"I really am sorry, Jack. I wish I could take it back, but I can't." Jack had expected the Doctor to leave it there; never did he expect the Doctor would, in turn, return the favour with secrets of his own. "I was so angry with you. Humanity, I mean. So ashamed. So I ran. Ended up in the fifty-first century." Jack stiffened at the mention of his birth century, half wanting to know what the state of his home was but he wasn't sure he could deal with any more disappointment. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and let the Doctor continue. "I never wanted to see another human again. It's... it's been over a century for me."

Over a century? Jack's eyebrows lifted, realising the Doctor had been away for such a long time. Then again, if Jack had the means to leave, he would have stayed away for just as long... if not longer.

"I... I let you down, and I wish I hadn't. But I just couldn't come here. I lost my family too, Jack. You forget that I'm not some kind of mysterious entity. I had a wife. I had a son," The life had left the Doctor's voice and Jack almost had chills hearing it. "Cousins. I sacrificed them. And trust me, it'll never get any easier."

Deep down, Jack knew he wasn't being fair but he had a long time to build up his anger toward the other man. Not to mention a lot of time to brood and stand atop buildings in Cardiff, cursing the man from here to the Boeshane Peninsula and back again. Nothing could ease the pain he felt and nothing could lessen the heaviness in his chest. Jack needed someone to rage at and, really, only the Doctor would do. The Doctor was the one person who could have helped and he hadn't even shown his face.

"I'm aware of all that," Jack said, even though the extent of the destruction the Doctor had waged on his home was a bit of a shock. Had the circumstances been different, Jack may have stopped and realised what the Doctor was confessing to him. Jack, however, was beyond listening to anyone and wanted only to throw verbal punches. "And, for the record, I do a damn good job on my own for the most part!" Because he did. Because Earth was in a better situation after he had taken over Torchwood and was around to keep the Rift in check. "But for the love of Christ, Doctor. You can't bloody see when we needed help!? Or do you keep your head stuck so far up your TARDIS that you're the only one who exists!?"

Well, perhaps Jack wasn't done ranting and raging. At least he wasn't throwing punches any longer. He, however, could bite with words and was doing a fairly good job of that at the present.

There was a self-satisfied smirk that settled on his face when he saw the Doctor sway. Yes, Doctor, things had been horrible and Jack wasn't lying when he said he had needed help. There was a part of Jack that wondered if, had the Doctor shown up, had things played out the same way? Another head -- though he hadn't listened to Ianto about going off half-cocked into the Thames House -- giving ideas and working together. Maybe Steven wouldn't have had to die and maybe he'd be curling up in bed with Ianto.

Or maybe it would have been worse.

"I'm so glad that your anger was taken out in the form of my grandson and my --" Jack shook his head. No, saying it once was enough. The Doctor should have realised just what Ianto meant to Jack for him to call him 'partner'. Not lover, but partner. "You wound up there? Say hi to my parents? Or maybe Gray?" The words felt bitter on his tongue and Jack wasn't holding anything back once he got going. Later he would realise what the Doctor had said, later it would sink in that the Doctor had sacrificed his own race and what Jack had done was only a tenth the magnitude of things the Doctor had to do to his home.

Then again, if Jack had those two years of his memory back, he would have known that he had done the same thing -- through the assistance of the Time Agency he had single handedly destroyed the Boeshane Peninsula. But that was neither here nor there, sealed away in those memories the Agency had stolen from him.

"I'm warning you, Jack. You have to stop it." There was a tone to the Doctor's voice that said he was tired of being verbally abused.

Jack didn't have to stop it, nor did he want to. He'd given into the rage that he had kept bottled up for so long that one the flood gates had been opened and they refused to be silenced. Jack knew he was one bad bottle of tequila away from completely losing his mind but right now, he didn't give a damn. He wanted to wallow in self-pity and anger and screw whoever came in his way -- even a man he loved as much as the Doctor.

"You don't think I've dealt with death before?" The Doctor continued. "And you think that just because I appear, everything's easy and fine? This is my eleventh incarnation! I've died ten times saving this damned planet, and when I don't appear once, I'm the scourge of the universe?"

"Oooooh. You've died ten times," Jack scoffed. "I get that I'm an abomination in your eyes. But talk to me after you've lived through about two thousand deaths if you will. Sorry to say it doesn't get easier and it gets worse." Jack looked at the Doctor evenly. "The Earth has been in peril plenty of times and we've managed to muddle through just fine on our own. It's when we're in trouble and know we can't get by that is when everything went to hell in a hand cart."

Enough. Jack was tired of talking. He lifted his hand, pointing directly in the Doctor's face. "You? You're comin' with me. And you are going to fix this. At least, what there is to be fixed."

The bruise was rapidly fading from the Doctor's jaw and Jack was struck by the similarities between them both. Two men, destined to watch their lives fall apart in front of their eyes time and time again -- and they were powerless to stop it. Even as Jack made his demand, he knew he had no right to ask what he had. Coupled with the fire in the Doctor's eyes, Jack knew he had finally crossed the line. Up until now, the Doctor had understood Jack's anger -- now, Jack had stepped over that unspoken barrier and he was going to face the Doctor's wrath.

"No. No. I'm not your damned lapdog, Captain. You're a good man, but you're going too far. And I will not have it."

The Doctor caught Jack's gaze and stepped forward, fisting his hands in the lapels of Jack's greatcoat. For such a slight man, Jack was struck by how strong the Time Lord truly was. Jack, for his part, knew better than to struggle and instead stood there, listening to everything the Doctor had to say. It was time someone knocked some sense into him.

"When this damned planet decided to happily hand their children to an alien race, I left. And now apparently everything bad that humanity does, it's my fault." The Doctor ran his tongue in front of his teeth as if trying to get rid of the last traces of blood. Jack could see that the Doctor had finally snapped, had finally been pushed far enough by one Jack Harkness. "So says the man that would have wiped out London if it wasn't for me. Look at you. Just _look_ at you." The Doctor's voice grew harsher as he spoke. "Ianto is dead. He's not going to come back. Just like me, you're going to watch everyone you love die. You're not the first one to lose someone, and you won't be the last either. If you can't handle that after the people you've killed, then maybe I should have left you to die on that warship."

"That wasn't my decision!" Jack exploded. "That was the government that decided to do this. NOT ME! So the majority of humanity are cruel and inhumane people. So that, logically, means to turn your back when there are those of us fighting? Yes, I know I sent those children to them in the 40s. I'm aware of that. It's my cross to bear even if I'll never be able to atone for that sin." He drew his lips into a thin line, looking evenly at the Doctor.

"Would you like to know how Ianto died? He died following my lead, going into the Thames House to confront the 456 directly. It was stupid and brash and in the end I fucking killed him. But at least I tried to do something. And in the end, yes, we got them away, I lost my grandson and my daughter will not even look at me."

"You lost your grandson. I lost everyone. Family. Friends. Before then, my wife and son turned their back on me because I needed to travel." The Doctor's voice became a growl as he angrily let go of Jack, pushing him backwards as he released his lapels. Jack stumbled backwards, the Doctor's words serving as the wakeup call he so desperately needed.

"Over the years, even before I was changed, I couldn't possibly understand since there's no way I could understand everything oh wise one." Jack swallowed hard, squaring off against the Doctor. "I've lost everything time and time again, Doctor. I lost my father, I lost my brother due to being a stupid child and he in turn took members of my team from me. You're not the only one who has loved and lost over the years so don't you dare try to make out like my pain is any less than yours!"

Later, when Jack realised some of the things he had said to the Doctor, he would regret the things he shouted at the other man. Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the fight left Jack. He swallowed hard, a bit of his sanity beginning to seep back into his head. At long last, grief began to seep its way through the anger, cracking Jack's hard exteriour and letting the bruised and broken man beneath shine through. At last, Jack was letting the Doctor see the man he tried to keep hidden and usually did so successfully.

"His heart is still beating," Jack said, voice cracking. "And I have no idea how to save him," Jack whispered, his words carried on the wind, but hopefully reaching the Doctor.

"He's... alive?" The Doctor's voice lowered to match Jack's. The Doctor turned, stepping back toward Jack and placing a hand on his shoulder. Wordlessly, the Doctor pulled Jack into an embrace, letting his actions speak volumes by way of an apology. Neither man was one for the 'I'm sorries', but the hug went a long way in regards to mending broken bridges. No matter how they may quarrel, the bonds of friendship went deeper than words alone.

In the end, the Doctor needed Jack -- and Jack needed his Doctor.

"Well, then," the Doctor said, stepping back from Jack. "What even happened to him?"

How quickly the conversation turned from angrily shouting at one another to working together to solve a problem. Jack should have been disturbed by the speed emotions changed between them, but instead he was comforted. Now there was a common goal to work toward. He had expelled his anger, gotten it out of his system and now was ready to move on. Together, he and the Doctor would find the solution and bring Ianto back.

Jack had to keep positive otherwise he truly would lose his mind.

"There is nothing like the 456. They look at kids as if they're some sort of a drug -- cocaine for aliens. The ultimate high they called it. They released some sort of virus into the Thames House, killing everyone. Present company excluded."

"The ultimate high?" The Doctor shook his head, disgusted. "Pre-pubescent children of many races produce a cocktail of hormones that can give a 'high'," the Doctor said, taking on a role of instructor. "Humans... well, you're a big mix of compounds! If I drained the fluid from your brains, added the excess amounts of serotonin, a mixture of chemicals from a growing pancreas? Well, I wouldn’t end up doing anything else. Ultimate natural high, as far as I'm aware. I mean, it's illegal. Very illegal. Contravenes the Shadow Proclamation, actually. I remember the R- an old friend that did things like that. Might have been her invention, actually--" Stopping mid-ramble, the Doctor drew in a heavy breath. "Hopefully it won't poison me. Not in small traces. I'd take a sample from you, Jack, but it'll probably have left your system by now --"

"It would. It was nearly six months ago," Jack interjected.

"Ianto will obviously have it still there, though..." the Doctor paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "If his heart rate is so slow, it might mean he's in a coma. Quick sample there, and I'll analyse it in the TARDIS. Or down there if I can. Would be faster down there." Nodding at his plan, the Doctor looked at his friend. "C'mon then. The sooner we do this, the better. How long ago was the 456?"

"As I said," Jack repeated, "nearly six months ago." Jack motioned for the Doctor to follow him. He drew in a breath, stopping and turning in the Doctor's direction. "I..." Unfortunately for the Doctor, the words 'I'm sorry' weren't in Jack's vocabulary. "I've lost people before, Doctor. It's never felt like this."

For the briefest of moments, the temptation existed to ask the Doctor to change the past. However, the request died on Jack's tongue. He knew the rules and he knew the doctor would never forgive him for asking. It didn't matter that Jack had spent so many waking moments pretending that he could go back in time and fix the damned mistake he made. The Doctor said nothing and Jack found himself chattering uncharacteristically to fill the silence.

"Yes," Jack muttered. "That's what they were doing, minus all the technobabble thrown in and in _this_ case, technobabble is not good for the soul." Jack drew in a breath, rubbing his his knuckles with his thumb. "Anything that would have been in my bloodstream would have been processed... probably that same day. Maybe the following depending on how potent the virus actually was. We --" Jack broke off, quickly changing the pronoun, "they figured out a way to keep his condition from changing for the worse."

"You're right," The Doctor murmured under his breath. "Probably couldn't handle whatever it is that keeps you alive."

For once, Jack ignored the dig at his immortality. He knew how 'wrong' he was in the Doctor's eyes, but now wasn't the time to get into that. And, to be honest, if the Doctor could fix Ianto -- Jack wouldn't care if the Doctor never met his eyes again.

That may have been taking it a _little_ too far. But if that was the bargain he had to make... it was the bargain he'd have to make.

Jack's babbling had managed to take them from the upper portions of the Hub and down into the main part where Ianto was being held. Reaching Ianto's chamber, Jack flung open slot 007 and wiped the condensation from the glass.

"Well... here he is," Jack said softly.

When Jack turned to look at the Doctor, he saw that familiar tightness in his jaw -- the expression Jack saw whenever the Doctor was deep in thought. Jack stood aside to let the Doctor move in and assess the situation.

"You have to remember that I can't promise anything, Jack," the Doctor said, frowning. "Both of you."

Jack turned then, his brow furrowing at the 'both of you' comment. His eyebrows knit further together when he saw Gwen standing at the door, hanging back as if she wasn't sure if she should enter. After a moment's hesitation, Jack nodded and Gwen slipped into the room. Seemed like curiosity was going to get the better of her, then.

"I know you can't," Jack replied softly, looking down at Ianto. "But at this point... something is better than nothing. We've done everything we know how to do... and this is what we are left with. If you do nothing, he'll die. I-- there isn't much left to lose."

Ignoring the Torchwood team, the Doctor's attention was focused on Ianto. Clearing his throat, the Doctor pulled the panel aside, releasing the sound of the machines keeping tabs on Ianto's heartbeat. Jack bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, watching the Doctor place two fingers against Ianto's neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," The Doctor said, though Jack ignored the repeated apologies. "I'll... I'll do my best. But... you won't want to see this. It's the best way that I can analyse traces of bacteria without taking a blood sample. We don't have enough time."

Before Jack could ask what the Doctor was planning, the Doctor had leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ianto's. Jack was torn between finding that kiss arousing and pissing him off. He entered the realm of pure anger as he watched the Doctor press Ianto's mouth open and sweep his tongue inside. Oh no -- there was one person who kissed Ianto Jones and it was _him_.

Jack suffered from a disease known all the world over as 'hypocrisy'. It was okay for him to snog others, but god forbid he see Ianto locking lips with anyone else. The jealousy damn near killed him.

"Something's... off," the Doctor muttered as he straightened up. "I need to... oh, I need to think..."

"Some of that 'odd' might be me," Jack confessed, looking at Ianto. Yes, he'd given the man more than one kiss since he'd been put into stasis. "And I know you don't think of me as natural. If you know what it is, just tell us. We can find what we need in the vaults if we have it. Something... anything. Just say something, Doctor."

Jack watched as the Doctor's eyes darted back and forth, as if he were reading an entire library of information. His fingers waggled, and Jack had to wonder if he was mentally cross referencing everything he had ever learned.

For once in his life, Jack was completely at a loss and so he stood beside Ianto with his hands shoved into his pockets. It wasn't often the protective shell got pulled back and Jack stared down at Ianto, ice crystals lining his lips and eyelashes. There was no rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, he just lay there so cold and still.

"No, I... I know that there's a touch of impossibility there, I can taste that." The Doctor pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth while he thought. "There's something --- Oh _yes_!"

Rubbing his temples, the Doctor started mouthing half-words as he paced about, mumbling things that didn't make any sort of sense to Jack. While Jack wanted to press, wanted to know what the Doctor had figured out, he wasn't about to interrupt the Time Lord's thought processes. Once more, the Doctor moved close to Ianto, though this time he slipped a finger into his mouth rather than kiss him.

Vast improvement as far as Jack was concerned.

Bringing the finger back under his nose, the Time Lord inhaled once more. Jack drew his lips into a thin line, watching him with bated breath while every fibre of his being begged to question the Doctor. Frowning, the Doctor sucked the finger into his mouth and promptly began to cough.

"Jack, coffee -- home made, plastic and metal filter, no, double filtered -- and... oh, oh, oh! Excess amounts of dopamine!"

All Jack did was nod, eyes darting back and forth between his frosty lover and the manically bouncing Doctor. The wait was killing him -- absolutely killing him... not to mention the longer Ianto was out of the protective container Jack didn't know how long Ianto could survive in this state.

The Doctor wiped his finger on his trousers then sniffed again. The grin that spread across his face told Jack everything: the Doctor knew what it was. Only question now was how to _fix_ it.

"They didn't release poisons, they released hormones! It all makes perfect sense! They were able to examine the bodies of the children and the 456 could find out whatever they wanted about you lot -- at least biologically." The Doctor coughed again, dabbing at the tears that sprung to his eyes. "Sorry," he said around another cough. "You've been pumping him full of painkillers, weren't you?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, between the painkillers and the types of anaesthesia we have to use to keep him in stasis. Sorry, should have warned you but I also wasn't expecting you to snog the office boy either."

The Doctor doubled over, wincing, then straightened up again. "It's the hypothalamus. Where they get the high from. They attacked it. And Ianto's... Ianto's wasn't working how it should anyway." The Doctor launched into another coughing fit, looking at Jack helplessly. "I need some distilled water. And Smarties. need the E-numbers."

"What do you mean there's something wrong with his hypothalamus?" Jack asked, frowning. "There was nothing wrong with him before we went into the Thames House." Jack turned, finally acknowledging Gwen. "Gwen!"

"On it!" Gwen darted away, her steps thudding on the metal walkways, leaving Jack alone with the Doctor.

"Yes! Well, no. not exactly. The coffee had been contaminated with an alien substance. Filtering it over and over again just gave it a greater potency. See? That’s what I thought was up!" A smug expression settled on the Doctor's face and Jack had to remind himself not to punch him again. "The hypothalamus. It's a huge nerve centre -- basically, anyway. Controls a lot of things. Body temperature, metabolism, and things your scientists haven't even worked out yet." Another cough, this one harsher. "And the coffee contamination was messing with his hypothalamus. When the 456 hormones attacked bits of his system, the coffee 'bug' had already gotten his body used to that kind of level!"

Once Ianto was back, Jack would concentrate on the rest of what the Doctor was saying. Right now, though, Jack wanted Ianto looking at him and breathing. Perhaps kissing him, but he could let that part wait for a little bit. Mostly, all Jack wanted was for those crystal blue eyes to look up at him with recognition, not staring blankly at the ceiling.

The Doctor stepped away from Jack, wiping the tears away from his eyes. His face was red and puffy, almost like he had walked through a field of poppies with a deadly allergy to pollen.

"Now, I don't want to cause a bit of a panic, but I really need the water and Smarties."

"Here!" Gwen arrived back on the scene within minutes as if she had heard the Doctor's plea. She reached the railing, tossing first the jug of distilled water at Jack followed by the Smarties.

"Will this do?" Jack asked, holding the items up in each hand.

Without a word, the Doctor snatched each item from Jack's hand, ripping open the package and stuffing his face with the little sweets. Jack noticed that he barely chewed them, forcing the candy down his throat with giant glugs of water.

"OOooooaaaaugh." The Doctor shook himself, rolling his shoulders. "Right. Much better. I think I can work that out of my system on my own now." He stumbled a bit, caught himself, then ran a hand through his hair. "Mostly can work it out.

There was a part of Jack that itched to know what made the Doctor tick, particularly watching his body metabolise whatever it was that was in Ianto's body. Jack knew how his own body worked, that whatever had happened to him on Satellite 5 had made him impervious to diseases and poisons. It was always a bitch, but eventually Jack's body would work through the poison and leave him as good as new. The Doctor, though, could get rid of a poison by way of Smarties and distilled water. Yes, Jack was more than a bit intrigued!

Later. All of this would come later.

"Okay," The Doctor continued after a sneeze. "We need to restart his entire metabolism. A few chemicals in the right places and he'll be good as new. Hopefully, anyway."

The Doctor's voice dropped, muttering the last bit under his breath. Jack, however, heard everything -- he simply chose to ignore it. Jack needed something to cling to and right now, it was the possibility that the Doctor was going to fix this and set Ianto right. They could deal with the fall-out of the 456 later -- but getting his team back to full strength was top priority. Though, Jack wouldn't lie, he had every intention of taking a few days away from Cardiff just the two of them... provided this worked.

"Ianto just needs his body to speed up a bit! Look at his heart rate, far too slow. He needs a kickstart! Something to get him raring to go!" The Doctor's mouth ran and Jack briefly wondered what Gwen was making of this. It was one thing to watch him over a computer monitor. It was another to see him in the flesh. "Hmm. All right, then! We need glucocorticoid. Hydrocortisone should do. That's the basic one for humans, isn't it?" He pressed on without waiting for a response. "Vasopressin, too. Only in small doses. And a good old electric shock. I know it's basic, but the 456 survive by reacting to human hormones. As soon as the remnants in Ianto are fed and shocked at the same time, well, 'goodbye Vienna'. Ooh. I haven’t said that in _ages_."

Finding himself nodding, Jack made a mental note of everything the Doctor asked for. He lifted an eyebrow the moment he mentioned using an electric shock, though he knew that would be needed. Right. He could do this.

"Right. Back in a flash."

This time, Jack didn't ask for Gwen's assistance. It would take longer to explain all the chemicals and compounds the Doctor asked for and with each passing moment, Ianto's body grew warmer. The ice crystals had long since melted away and there was a hint of colour beginning to creep into Ianto's features. Time was no longer on their side.

He dug through the various containers they kept, muttering the names of the chemicals like a mantra. Each one was found in turn and Jack soon found himself back in the cold storage area with phials clinking in his hands. Without a word, Jack handed them over to the Doctor. He knew he looked a fright, and knew that his concern over Ianto was opening both Gwen's and the Doctor's eyes. He knew there would be a lot of ribbing later -- mutterings that Jack had finally grown soft in his old age.

Well, in the emotional sense. _Certainly_ not the sexual sense.

"Right! Excellent!" The Doctor took the phials from Jack, shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. After rooting around for a moment, he retrieved a couple of needles packaged in plastic.

"What do you have in there?" Jack muttered under his breath. "The black hole of calcutta? If the Linburg baby is in there, I want to know."

Using each needle and phial in turn, the Doctor carefully measured out each, punctured the skin of his arm, and set about fixing the chemical imbalance in Ianto. No one present mentioned the fact that the Doctor wasn't a trained medical professional. A Doctor in title only.

Blotting away the small bead of blood that formed, the Doctor stepped away and looked at Jack. 'Go on,' his smile seemed to say.

For as long as Jack had searched for a cure -- the moment of truth had arrived and he wasn't sure if he could do this. His nerves had been rubbed raw for the past few months. Jack had sworn he would never allow himself to fall this far when it came to loving another person, but in spite of his protestations Ianto had slipped into his life and his heart. Jack seemed rooted to the floor and it was only when Gwen approached Jack, pushing the paddles into his hands, that Jack was brought back to the present.

There was a saddness in Gwen's eyes, an expression Jack couldn't completely understand as she stepped away from Jack.

"Go on," she said softly, her voice cracking. "Save him."

"Right, then," Jack said, looking down at the paddles. The fairy-tales said the type of shock needed should have been a kiss or something equally, dopily romantic. So it was the choice between using the defibrilator or the romantic kiss.

Jack didn't trust the stories and instead went for the clinical science. Reconnecting the heart monitor, Jack watched the slow beat of his heart for a moment. With a deep breath, he charged the paddles on the lowest setting, placed them against Ianto's chest and sent the volts of electricity through his body. The monitors instantly kicked to life.

Tossing the paddles aside without a thought, Jack reached for Ianto's cold hand and looked down at his lover, waiting for him to open his eyes.

"Come on, damn you, open your eyes. Look at me." Jack closed his eyes, head falling forward to rest on Ianto's abdomen, the last words murmured into his skin. "Please."

Nothing.

Nothing but the steady blip of the heart monitor. If they could trust science, he was alive. There was, unfortunately, a large difference between _alive_ and _awake and shaggable_.

So far, Ianto was the former.

Jack slid his hand into Ianto's, ignoring the Doctor and Gwen as they stood by. His eyes were fixed on Ianto's waiting for the lashes to flutter and his eyes to open. This was their only chance and he knew it. Ianto's body was too warm to 'survive' a second lowering of body temperatures. If this didn't work, Ianto Jones was going to die.

It had to work, didn't it?

Each second that ticked away felt like a mini-eternity, stretching out before him in a long line. As the seconds passed, Jack began to fall deeper into despair; there was no way he could survive this long.

"Jack... I'm sorry..."

Jack shook his head, listening as the beats on the monitor grew further and further apart. He didn't want to hear the Doctor's apologies, nor was he ready to admit that Ianto was dying. A few more minutes and the monitor would cease to beat, merely intone a steady tone -- a flat line.

"You did your best."

His voice was hollow, the expression on his face empty as he stared at Ianto's lifeless form. Yes, they had done all they could, hadn't they? A sample of blood from Ianto and the TARDIS had made her best guess as to what was slowly killing Ianto. Apparently that guess had been wrong and Jack had no one to blame but himself. It had been sheer folly to think that Ianto could be brought back from a point just before death.

_The lies we tell ourselves..._

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder but Jack shrugged it off. He didn't want comfort, he simply wanted to be alone with his lover when the time finally ran out for Ianto Jones.

"Leave us," Jack softly commanded. "Please."

The sound of footsteps shuffling behind told Jack the two had left him alone with the dying Ianto. The first time had been hard enough on Jack, watching his life slip away while Jack's own life force diminished with him. Listening to Ianto pleading, the things he said just before the virus had extinguished his life. Thankfully, this time Ianto was unconscious already and death would carry him away in her arms like sleep.

And it afforded Jack the chance to say his final goodbye.

"I know I never had to say it," Jack spoke, brushing the hair back from Ianto's face. "Hell, even when I did say it you always replied 'I know' -- and yet I still always believed you needed to hear it from me." Lifting himself up from the stool, Jack pressed his lips to Ianto's forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you and I'm sorry I don't get more time with you." A kiss to his cheek this time. "And I do promise you, I'll never forget you no matter what happens. To the ends of the universe, I will always remember you."

Gently, Jack laid his fingertips over Ianto's lips and ignored the breath he felt against them. Wishful thinking on his part and nothing more. Emotion welled up, tightening his chest and forcing his throat closed. He couldn't speak so, in the end, all Jack could do was mouth the words ' _I love you_ '. Jack removed his hand, bending down to brush his lips against Ianto's slightly warm ones just as the monitor ceased beeping and began to herald Ianto Jones's exit from the world.

It hurt more the second time around.

Jack reached over Ianto's body, shutting off the monitor, no longer wanting to hear the constant scream. If Ianto deserved anything, it was a peaceful exit. At least Jack could give him that, right? He wasn't sure how long he remained in the basement, his hand laced with Ianto's, watching his lover lie there so perfectly still. Jack committed every scar, every mark on his skin to memory, creating a perfect picture in his mind's eye that would last him for the rest of eternity. If there was ever a promise Jack made in his life that he was determined to keep, it was the promise to remember him. He knew as time went on it would get easier, that he would find another lover to fill the void and to curl up with late at night. However, Jack also knew there was a small area in the corner of his heart that would never be filled. Only a few lovers and partners had ever left such a space -- they were the individuals who had crawled under Jack's skin in spite of the barriers Jack had tried to keep in place.

Ianto Jones had found that place in Jack's heart of hearts and refused to budge.

After so many hours of searching, Jack was finally admitting defeat. In the end, he couldn't save Ianto -- though he at least got credit for trying. Short of a miracle (which was supposed to come in the form of the Doctor and his TARDIS), there was nothing that could bring Ianto back and Jack was going to have to come to terms with that. Somehow.

Rising from the stool, Jack withdrew his hand from Ianto's, brushing his thumb across Ianto's eyebrows. He stood silently for a moment, trying to come up with something profound and failed miserably.

_Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss._

God, he was a fucking romantic, wasn't he? Only problem with the parallel was Ianto was really dead and Jack wouldn't be falling victim to any poison from a chemists. Still... Jack did follow the instruction, brushing his lips across Ianto's one final time.

"I love you." He finally managed to say the words rather than imply them. "And I'm sorry."

Once again, that damned lump formed in his throat once more and Jack didn't try to dislodge it. Now was his turn to grieve in silence. Maybe he'd travel with the Doctor for a time, promising Gwen that he would return in a few months and take up his post once more. She didn't have to know that he'd spend a few hundred years with the Doctor (if the Doctor would have him for that long) and return when he was ready. Shake off the dust of the Earth and find his soul again -- a soul that wasn't marred by the deaths he had caused over the years. Not just Ianto, but _everyone_. It was time to atone for his sins: every single one he had carried with him since he let go of Gray's hand as a child.

Enough. No more. Time to move on.

***

_Nothing._

_No pulse._

_No breath._

_No life._

_No reason to go back._

_No--_

_No reason **not** to go back._

_Th-thump._

_Breath._

_**Open your eyes.** _

_Bright. Light._

***

Time had no meaning while Jack sat beside Ianto. Things ran through his mind: maybe the concotion of chemicals had been off, maybe the damage to the hypothalamus was too greath. Maybe, maybe, maybe -- an eternity of maybes marched before Jack like angry soldiers. Questions that would haunt him for the rest of his very long life.

At last, Jack couldn't take any more. He spun on his heel, putting space between Ianto and himself. The rest of the team could take care of the interment. He had said his good-byes. He had --

"Jack."

He froze, foot poised a few centimetres above the cement floor and nearly pitched forward after being off balance. Only because he was Jack Harkness, complete with cat-like reflexes, did he regain his equilibrium.

No. His imagination needed to stop fucking with him.

" _Jack._ "

The voice was faint but it was still there. Jack crossed the distance in several long strides, skidding to a stop beside Ianto's makeshift bed. He was pale and he may have been shivering but he was _alive_. There were no words he could say and there was no expression in the human language that could accurately describe his feelings.

As always with the case of Jack Harkness, actions spoke louder than words.

He placed a hand on Ianto's cheek, lowered his head and did the one thing he could: he kissed him. Nothing demanding, merely needed that reassurance that Ianto was there. After a moment, Jack could feel Ianto respond, knew the way Ianto's fingers curled in his hair. Jack was reluctant to pull away, but did at last when air was necessary -- particularly given one of them had been deprived of oxygen for god knows how long.

"I knew you'd do it."

"I gave--"

Ianto pressed a finger against Jack's lips and shook his head. Jack merely nodded, pulled the stool up beside the bed and sat. There were things for another day -- parts of Ianto that were still broken that would need to be fixed. Those were thoughts for another day. For now, all those worries could wait. Jack slid his stool closer, gently brushing his fingers through Ianto's hair.

Neither man needed to speak.

Sometimes, no words were the best words of all.


End file.
